


Christmas Wrapping

by Fatebegins



Series: Edited To Add [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Mpreg, Organized Crime, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' ex-boyfriend is back, and not everyone trusts his intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Wrapping

“This can’t be happening.”  
  
Rafael’s smile dims and seriously did the jerk expect a welcome parade?  
  
“That’s an understandable reaction.”  
  
Stiles is halfway convinced that this is a horrible, nacho induced nightmare. He’ll wake up in bed at home, with Derek- and _oh god, Derek._ Derek would flip out if he knew Rafael was in town;  go all Godfather part three and that is so not what they need right now.  
  
“I know this is difficult.”  
  
“I…” There are a million thoughts racing through Stiles’ mind but as much as he wants to tell Rafael to disappear into the sunset again, he doesn’t.  
  
Some small, desperate part of him wants to hear what he has to say.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Stiles finally manages to ask. He’s pretty proud his voice doesn’t crack or raise to an embarrassingly high decibel. “Why are you here?”  
  
“I’m here for you.” Rafael’s hand falls atop of Stiles’ on the counter and Stiles yanks his hand back. “That’s also understandable.”  
  
“Are you insane? Are you _clinically_ insane?” Stiles has no clue what is going on. Is he in the twilight zone? “You can’t just walk into my store and touch me and put a stupid, sad look on your stupid face !”  
  
“I know you’re angry--”  
  
“You have no idea what I am.” Stiles snaps, glad for the resurgence of anger beneath his shock. He feels in control again, firmly in the present and not drowned in the past. “You thought we’d what? Laugh, catch up, reminisce fondly about the time you skipped town and left me holding a two hundred thousand dollar tab to the mafia?”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Beneath his tan., Rafael’s skin is ashen. ‘I thought I was protecting you.”  
  
Stiles snorts in disbelief.  
  
“I was messed up back then, hooked on so many drugs I didn’t even know which way was up.”  
  
“You didn’t--”  
  
“I hid it well, Stiles, but I was an addict, not only drugs but gambling. Put those two together and you end up in bed with the wrong kinds of people. When you told me…” He swallows audibly, runs a hand through his dark hair. “When you said you were pregnant I panicked. For a second, the haze cleared and I knew I had to stop, but it was too late, I didn’t have the money I owed. I figured I fucked up your life enough, that I’d run and those loan sharks would chase me, leave you alone.”  
  
“You _abandoned_ me, after all that happened, after what I gave up...My father can barely speak to me because of you!” The words are strangled, and maybe he doesn‘t have control over the situation. “And you still left me, alone and pregnant.”  
  
They both startle at the soft jingle of the bell above the shop door.  
  
Lydia’s standing there, mouth slightly parted in shock and forehead scrunched in confusion.  It’s obvious she heard what he just said.  
  
“Uhm.” She looks between them, “I forgot my scarf.”  
  
Stiles turns away, draws a shaky breath.  “Ok.”  
  
Lydia’s eyes never leave Rafael and Stiles has this sinking feeling that she’s going to grill him as soon as possible.  
  
“Do you need me to stay, Stiles?” She’s clearly switched on her protective mode. “I can get behind the register if you and your…friend, need to talk in the back?”  
  
“Stiles?” Dark eyes hopeful, Rafael touches his arm gently and this time Stiles doesn’t move away. “I’d like that.”  
  
With a resolution he doesn’t feel Stiles shakes his head, “No, Lydia, he was just leaving.”

  
  
* **Derek** *  
  
It’s only two in the afternoon and Derek is wishing for a nap.  
  
Not for him, but for Dylan. They’ve spent the morning  at a Christmas tree farm and Dylan apparently didn’t get that the point of the outing was to find a tree, not try and get kidnapped.  
  
Scott, although he’d invited himself along, hadn’t been any help.  He choose to hang out by the hot cocoa stand, sipping hot chocolate and watching Dylan talk to several random strangers. Then later on, Derek had to drag the tree into the apartment by himself, which made him resent having a condo for the first time in his life.  
  
“What’s wrong with your friend’s tummy?”  
  
Derek pauses in the middle of loading up the dishwasher. He‘s hoping Dylan conks out after lunch. “You mean Scott?”  
  
Dylan nods, face scrunched in concern, “It looks funny.”  
  
“It’s just big; that’s normal.”  
  
“For what?” The entire time he’s speaking, Dylan’s spooning mashed potatoes into Robin’s open mouth. Stiles would have a heart attack if he could see them now.  
  
“He’s having a baby.”  
  
Dylan’s mouth goes into a perfectly little ‘o’, “How?”  
  
_Huh_.  
  
Derek is in no way prepared to have a sex talk if this is where this is headed.  
  
“It’s….growing in his belly?” Derek tries. Yeah that sounds right. He repeats it with more conviction. “A baby is growing in his stomach. The same way a flower grows in a pot.”  
  
“ _Wha_?” Now Dylan looks horrified, temporarily forgetting to feed Robin. “Why?”  
  
Why indeed.  
  
“Cause he and my uncle love each other?”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Thankfully, that seems to be the end of it.  
  
The meal continues in silence for several minutes and Derek’s collecting Dylan’s empty plate when the runt decides to drop a bombshell.  
  
“Daddy,” Dylan props his elbows on the table, leans forward. “You love my Poppy.”  
  
Derek stares down into the sink where predictably Stiles has left his dirty breakfast dishes. “Obviously.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Yes,” Derek clarifies turning on the hot water once he sees how much syrup is caked at the bottom of Stiles’ bowl. Damn it, Stiles. “I love Poppy.’  
  
“Then put seeds in his belly.”  
  
Derek’s so startled he drops Dylan’s dish in the sink. It lands atop Stiles’ cracking into pieces.  
  
Shit.  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
“Uh…” There’s no reason why a three year old should leave him speechless. What the hell is he going to do when Dylan is five? The kid is going to be running circles around him. “We can’t…there’s no…Uh, no baby. Don‘t repeat that part about seeds. Ever.”  
  
And even Dylan isn’t buying that gibberish answer.  
  
“But I want a baby in Poppy.” Dylan pauses for a second, tilts his head in contemplation. “Or in me.”  
  
That does it.  
  
Derek can’t help but laugh and Dylan, completely clueless, joins in, jumping off his chair, arms raised to be picked up.  
  
“Okay, kid.” Derek tell him very seriously,. “I’ll talk to Poppy about getting a baby in his belly and you, there is no way you’re even going to have the opportunity to have one until you’re seventy.”  
  
“Is that old?”  
  
“No, it’s the perfect age.”

  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
Today is one of the days that Stiles curses his utter transparency.  Derek has been sending him weird looks since he got home and Stiles knows it’s obvious he’s upset. Even Dylan has picked up on his mood, dutifully going to bed when Stiles told him to when he would normally put up a fight.    
  
Stiles really, really, really doesn’t want to tell Derek about Rafael’s random visit. So he doesn’t. He knows that it’s not a great idea, but he can’t handle any more stress, and Derek won’t take the news well.  
  
As amazing and understanding as Derek is, he doesn’t push just brings Stiles some rocky road ice cream and beer, turns on a ridiculously, horrible slasher flick where the main character is naked and running through the woods in the first fifteen minutes.  
  
This is something _they_ never did.  
  
Rafael was the one who demanded to be taken care of, there was no give and take, Stiles would give and he would take and take until there was nothing left.  
  
“I‘m going to make some popcorn,” Derek moves his arm off of Stiles’ shoulder. “Want anything?”  
  
“Uh, me too. I mean no. No.” Stiles forces a smile, tries not to let his thoughts remain on his ex. “Thanks though.”  
  
Derek hesitates, “You okay?”  
  
_Tell him! Tell him! Tell him_ \--  
  
“I’m fine.” Stiles ignores the hysterical voice in his head.  
  
This is for the best. Stiles can keep this to himself, it’s not like Rafe was going to stay in town. People like Rafael stuck to an m.o. They drifted in, fucked up your life and then disappeared right back the way they came. It’s written in the asshole bible, and Rafael is a scholar of the asshole bible.  
  
Derek doesn’t look convinced but again, he doesn’t push just shuffles off into the kitchen. Stiles watches him go, takes in the sharp play of muscles in his back, across his shoulders. He wonders what Derek would’ve done if he encountered Rafael a year and a half ago and not him and Dylan in the park.  
  
When Derek gets back he’s grinning, messy hair and bare chest making him look like anything but a hit man.  “She’s dead, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” Stiles relaxes, he can’t let Rafael push into his life and destroy it. He’s happy.  
  
 “Dude,” Derek laughs and gesture to the bloody body on the screen. “What’d I tell you? They always kill the slut first.”  
  
Derek sets the popcorn bowl on the table and Stile scoots closer to tuck back against his side. Automatically, Derek pulls him closer, drops an absent kiss on the top of his head.

  
And Stiles loves that about him; how Derek can make him feel safe and loved with just a touch.  It’s something he never had before, and now his past is trying to worm his way into his future.  
  
“Dylan go down okay?”  
  
Stiles nods, laughter bubbling up as he remembers. “And he was very talkative. He asked me about you planting a baby in my belly, that was awkward.”  
  
“He asked me about sticking a baby in _his_ belly; I win.”  
  
“You totally win.” Stiles laughs, feeling some of the tension of the day finally melt away. “Why does he have this sudden fascination with impregnating people?”  
  
Derek shrugs, “Scott and his mutant stomach helped us pick out the tree.”  
  
“It looks nice.”  
  
“Ignore the candy canes and stickers, Dylan flipped when I tried to stop him from putting them on.” Derek’s lips brushing over his temple and then his mouth when Stiles lifts his face. “We can decorate it this weekend.”  
  
Stiles makes a noncommittal noise of agreement before settling against Derek’s chest.  
  
It’s not long before he feels himself growing drowsy, the heat from his husband’s body and Derek’s rhythmic stroking of his hair making it hard to keep his eyes open.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“You ever think about having another one?”  
  
Around a yawn, Stiles ask, “Another what?”  
  
Derek’s tone is casual, too causal. “Another kid.”  
  
“What?!” Stiles freezes, he feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “You want to have a kid?”  
  
“You don’t have to sound so horrified.” Derek moves away and Stiles wishes he‘d masked his reaction with a little more finesse. “I just asked if you thought of having another one.”  
  
“I had Dylan when I was twenty, I was a kid myself, a clueless kid.”  
  
Derek’s eyes are challenging. “And now you’re not a clueless kid. You‘re married.”  
  
“I  just want to do it right the next time.”  
  
“Then do it with me.”  
  
And that seems to be it, the beginning of the great American face off because Stiles can’t think of anything to say and as the seconds tick by, Derek’s expression grows darker and darker.  
  
“You don’t want to have a kid with me or something?”  
  
_Mayday, mayday all ships come in._  
  
Stiles knows that tone and this conversation is going down hill fast; titanic fast.  It’s wildly inappropriate, but all he can think about is Rafael, his stupid face in the shop today and the same stupid face when he told Stiles he was going out for cigarettes and never returned. Because even his ditch tactic was a cliché.  
  
“Things are good right now.” Stiles ventures carefully, “I like the way we are now.”  
  
“That has nothing to do with what I just asked you.”  
  
“Can we not make this into a thing?” Stiles doesn’t want a fight, and with the way Derek looks right now, he’s gearing up for one. “Please, I’m tired, beyond functioning right now.”  
  
“Then you should get some sleep.” Derek makes no move to leave the couch and Stiles’ stomach twists at the dismissal. “Good night.”

  
  
* **Derek** *  
  
Derek wakes to a tiny foot dangerously near his eye, he’s not surprised. At around three a,m, Dylan had crept into their bedroom and climbed in. Currently, Dylan is sprawled in between him and where Stiles is supposed to be, upside down with his feet taking up a huge majority of Derek’s pillow.  
  
The hazards of fatherhood.  
  
Carefully, Derek turns over unto his back, stares up at the ceiling fan as dawn’s soft light filters in. It’s been a weird few weeks. He never would’ve guessed the honey moon period ended so quickly. Stiles is different, quieter and closed off since the baby conversation two weeks ago.  
  
It’s really starting to piss him off.  
  
And it’s not about the baby thing. Derek gets it, he wasn’t expecting Stiles to magically be on board but he thought they would at least talk about it.  
  
A snuffle and Derek innately knows Dylan’s awake even before he catches sight of big eyes peeking up at him from below. Derek feigns sleep, watches Dylan from below his lashes and fights hard to contain a smile when the boy looks disappointed.  
  
Slowly,  Dylan sits up and leans over him. Derek doesn’t move.  
  
With an audible sigh, Dylan lays back down.  
  
Turning slowly, Derek grabs Dylan’s foot pretending to bite and the boy goes wild.  
  
“Daddy! Daddy! Stop.” Dylan giggles. “Don’t eat me.”  
  
Derek lifts him up, tickling his sides. “But I’m hungry!”  
  
“I’m not food!” He squirms away, laughing. “Daddy!”  
  
“You’re crazy.” Derek gets up, lifts Dylan up on his shoulders. “ C’mon, we’ve got a lot to do today.”  
  
“Are we dressing up the tree today?”  
  
“As soon as Poppy gets home, first we’re going to the library.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because, you, kid, are going to be expensive so I’ve got to go back to school.”

  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
This is probably most definitely not a good idea. Stiles knows that, Lydia has told him that, and yet here he is, parking his car and walking into the diner were his ex is waiting for him.  
  
“I’m really glad you agreed to meet up with me.” Rafael says. He’s dressed very casually, in jeans and a black button down. Stiles wonders just what the hell he does all day.  
  
“I clearly have no common sense, that’s been established.” Stiles sits down across the booth from him. He’s purposefully picked a place one town over.  He doesn’t want anyone to see them together.

Yeah. It feels sordid.  
  
“You look good.”  
  
“Rafael.”  
  
“I’m just making conversation.” The waitress comes over and before Stiles can say a word Rafael orders for both of them. At Stiles’ glare he gives a shrug, “You still take it with three crèmes and four sugars, right? And I know you’d never turn down loaded curly fries.”  
  
“That’s not the point.” Stiles mutters. He really does want fries.  
  
“So…you’re married now?”  
  
Stiles looks down at his hand where it lays on the table, gold wedding band clearly visible as he  fiddles with the place mat. “Yup.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“A little over a month.”  
  
“That’s good…” A beat of silence. “He treat you okay?”  
  
“Look,” This is getting uncomfortable. “Just tell me what you want and we can both go back to our lives.”  
  
“You don’t get it, do you? I’m not leaving. I want to be a part of our son’s life.”  
  
It feels like someone has poured a bucket of ice water over Stiles’ head. “He has a father.”  
  
Rafael’s eyes narrow, “I’m his father.”  
  
“Not in any way that counts. Derek is the one who’s with him _every_ day, Dylan doesn’t know you.”  
  
“You named him Dylan?” Rafael asks softly.  “We talked about that name--”  
  
“Don’t kid yourself.” Stiles hasn’t thought back to those times in years and now he’s embarrassed about his decisions. He’d been so pathetic. “I liked the name. It had nothing to do with you.”  
  
“I still would like to see him, meet him. Even if your partner--”  
  
“My _husband_.”  
  
“Even if your husband has assumed a father like role, I deserve a chance to get to know him.”  
  
“Derek isn’t…” Stiles hadn’t expected this. Before Derek, before everything, when he was alone and miserable, he’d pictured a scenario like this; Rafael groveling and begging for his forgiveness. “My husband isn’t going to like you being around.”  
  
“Well, he’s okay with us meeting, that’s a start.”  
  
Shame faced, Stiles scratches the back of his neck. “He doesn’t know we’ve met up.”  
  
Something flashes in Rafael’s eyes and Stiles is sure he’s misinterpreted it as pleasure. “Why not?”  
  
“Derek is, we’re.” Okay, Stiles get a grip. “Derek was an enforcer for the group you owed money to.  More than that, his uncle is Peter Hale.” Rafael sucks in a noisy breath. “He’d kill you.”  
  
“But…I don’t owe them any money, not anymore.”  
  
Stiles mouth twists into a wry smile. “His vendetta against you is more personal. He doesn’t like what you did to me.”  
  
The waitress arrives with their food then, and neither speak even though they’re not eating.  
  
“So he loves you.” Rafael says slowly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then you can influence him.”  
  
“I wouldn’t--”  
  
“Stiles, I know how badly you wished you had an opportunity to fix things with your Dad. Would you wish the same thing on our son? Nearly dying in an overdose put a lot of things in perspective for me. I got clean, I’m working, I turned my life around. I’m trying to make things right, don’t deny me the same chance.”  
  
There are a million reasons why Stiles should just refuse flat out. He knows there are, but he can’t seem to think of one. They’d get through it, Derek would understand.  
  
Stiles swallows down on all his doubts, “Okay.”

  
  
* **Derek** *  
  
Derek’s seated at the kitchen table going through the GED book when Stiles gets home.  It’s a little later than his usual time and he looks haggard, tired. He closes the books, sets his pen down.  
  
“Hey.” Stiles greets softly, tone unsure but plaintive and just like that Derek lets the fight go.  
  
“Hey.” He pushes his chair back, extends a hand. “What’s up?”  
  
Stiles ignores his hand in favor of sitting in his lap. He turns his face into the curve of Derek‘s neck, breathes deep. “I do want to have a baby with you.”  
  
“Stiles,” Derek’s not sure what to think. “You don’t have to--”  
  
“I’m scared because…” Stiles takes a deep breath and Derek knows the next words are hard for him. “I don’t want a pregnancy to change things between us. I’m afraid that things will change if I do get pregnant.”  
  
“That’s insane.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Stiles,” Derek lifts his face up, he hates the shadows he sees in his eyes.  “Whatever Rafael did in the past, I’m not him.”  
  
“I know I can be stupid--”  
  
“A little.”  
  
“But I love you.”  
  
“Aw, shucks.” Derek teases and Stiles laughs, kissing his neck. “but we can save the baby talk for another day.”  
  
Stiles waggles his brows suggestively, “You mean you don’t want to get started right now?”  
  
“We can practice.” Derek leads him into their bedroom, strips them both out of their clothes. It’s a little hard to get to the bed when Stiles refuses to stop kissing him but Derek can’t complain. Especially not when Stiles reaches between them, warm hand encircling his half hard cock and pumping it to life.  
  
“Bed.”  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
Stiles sounds out of breath and Derek can’t wait until he can really give him a work out.  
  
However, to his utter surprise, Stiles pushes him down on the bed, eyes glinting with mischief as he straddles Derek’s hips. And okay, Derek could definitely get used to this, especially if Stiles keeps grinding down on him just like that--  
  
Cold metal encircles his wrist and Derek goes still in shock. He tugs experimentally but the cuffs won’t budge.  
  
“What the fuck?”  
  
“Handcuffs.” Stiles replies warily. “I’m so sorry, but, I need to talk to you.”  
  
“Are you insane?” Derek glares up at him, erection wilting. “Did you start growing marijuana in your shop? Unlock the cuffs.”  
  
“Not until I say what I have to say.” Stiles leans down and gives him a gentle kiss. “And I love you, so just, remember that.”  
  
Derek growls, he hates feeling so defenseless; immobile. “Just say it.”  
  
Stiles is back to looking uncertain. “Rafael is back in town.”  
  
Utter shock slams through him, instinctively, Derek jerks forward, pulls against the restraints as he struggles to get up.  
  
Stiles presses him back down, he’s shaking his head. “Derek. Stop, you’re going to hurt your self.”  
  
“I’m going to break _every bone_ in his body.”  
  
“I know you’re mad, I knew you would be but.” Stiles bites down on his bottom lip nervously. “He’s changed, Derek.”  
  
“Are you shitting me? This is the guy who left you for _dead_.”  
  
“He didn’t--”  
  
“Stiles, owing two hundred grand to Peter is a death sentence, he _knew_ that--”  
  
“He has changed.”  
  
“How would you even know?”  
  
“I’ve spoken to him.” Derek goes still and Stiles rushes to continue. “I’ve only met up with him just a couple of times.”  
  
Disbelief bleeds into the anger. “Behind my back?”  
  
“It wasn’t behind your back--”  
  
“Unlock the cuffs.”  
  
“I don’t want you to--”  
  
“I’m not going to kill him.” Even if he deserves it. “He wants to meet up and chat, we can all meet up and chat.”  
  
“Derek.”  
  
“He isn’t getting within fifty feet of Dylan, you understand me? Not before I check him out for myself.”  
  
With a nod, Stiles reaches into the pocket of his discarded jeans, fetches out a key and unlocks the cuffs. Derek’s never been so angry in his life. He doesn’t know if its all directed at Rafael.  He flexes his fingers, shakes out the numbness and tries to fight the instinct to tear out of the apartment and rips the piece of shit‘s head off. “How long has he been in town?”  
  
“Close to three weeks.” Stiles’ voice is small and he’s drawn the blankets up over himself. It’s easy to see how insecure he’s feeling. Derek can’t bring himself to care.  
  
“How many chats have you two had behind my back?”  
  
Stiles flinches, “Just the two.”  
  
Derek nods with a calm he doesn’t feel turns over unto his side to stare at the wall. He knows he won’t sleep tonight.  
  
“Don’t be mad at me.” The hands at his waist are hesitant; trembling. “I’m trying to do the right thing, Derek.”  
  
The moon is hanging low in the sky, and for once when Derek stares up at it he’s not wondering when his happiness is going to come crashing down. It’s already in motion.  
  
“This guy has been in town for less than three weeks and he already has you lying to me.”  
  
“It’s not like that; he never asked me to lie.”  
  
_And defending him._  
  
Derek doesn’t respond, sometimes you can say much more with silence than words ever can.

  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
“Higher.”  
  
“I don’t think I can lift you that high.” Stiles grunts, muscles already burning unpleasantly while Dylan decides to take his sweet time hanging his little red ornament. “Dyl, you’re heavy! Hurry up.”  
  
“I’ve got him.” Derek lifts Dylan up and away effortlessly, no sign of exertion as Dylan carefully twines the end of the string over the trees branches.  
  
“Done!” Dylan sings out a moment later and Derek sets him down on the floor next to Robin.  
  
Stiles watches them decorate, chest tight. Derek had left the house before Stiles was awake, something he rarely does. It seems like avoidance is the name of the game.  
  
“How was the work out?”  Stiles asks when the sound of only Christmas carols gets to be too much. Dylan is going through an ‘Alvin and The Chipmunks’ phase and the songs he chooses to play are torturous.    
  
“Didn’t go to the gym, went to Peter’s.”  
  
Stiles frowns, “Your text said gym.”  
  
“Well, guess we’r all lying about where we’re going now.”  
  
Casting a careful look Dylan’s way, Stiles stops Derek, catches the sleeve of his black sweater. “Don’t be like that.”  
  
It looks like Derek is going to fight with him-again, until suddenly the irritation melts and he tugs Stiles closer, pulls him in close.  
  
Relieved, Stiles brings his arms around Derek. “This mean we’re done fighting?”  
  
“I was never fighting.”  
  
“We can still have make up sex though.” At Derek’s laugh, Stiles leans up on his tip toes to press a quick kiss to his mouth. “Thank you.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For getting it.” Stiles steps away but keeps their hands entwined. “I know some of my choices are hard to comprehend but, I’m happy you have enough faith in me to go with it.”

  
  
*Derek*  
  
“You don’t feel any guilt? Like not even the littlest bit? I feel guilty.”  
  
“Shut up.” Derek keeps his eyes on the hated figure entering the pawn shop. It’s a testament to his control that he’s not over there, smashing the guys face into the red patterned brick wall. “I’m doing this for all of us.”  
  
Scott furrows his brow. “But you told Stiles you trusted his choice.”  
  
“Stiles is Stiles.  He wants to see the best in people.”  
  
“You mean like how he saw the best in you and ended up being right?”  
  
“ _Shut up, Scott_.”  
  
With a huff, Scott rolls his eyes, takes another drink of his giant banana chocolate milkshake. “I’m regretting keeping you company.”  
  
“I didn’t invite you.” It’s true. Scott’s not useful on his best day, but right now he’s nearly eight months pregnant and even crazier than usual. Being cooped up in the camaro with him for the past hour hasn’t been fun.  
  
“Hurtful.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Derek doesn’t feel bad at all. If it wasn’t for Peter’s big, fat mouth Scott wouldn’t even know.  
  
Derek had asked his uncle to put a detail out on Rafael, feel out why he was in town. Derek may not know the guy, but he doesn’t trust him. Anyone who skips out on such a huge debt and leaves their pregnant boyfriend to deal with it isn’t shit and never will be. Derek’s going to find out why the rat is really back, and when he does, there won’t be a pair of handcuffs in the world that will save him.  
  
They watch in silence for a few moments but nothing seems to be happening.  
  
“Derek,“ Predictably, Scott has grown restless. “You think we can get some food? I’m hungry.”  
  
“You just ate; you literally had two cheeseburgers fifteen minutes ago.”  
  
“Dude, I’m eating for two.”  
  
“Hence the _two_ cheeseburgers.”  
  
Scott looks pained. “You’re a jerk, you know that? Maybe I should--huh.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That Rafael guy is talking to Jackson.”  
  
Derek double takes, and yeah he is.  Whatever Jackson’s saying he’s taking care not to be overheard, eyes darting around as he speaks.  
  
A manila envelope is handed over and Rafael tucks it into his jacket, before walking away briskly.  
  
Gotcha.  
  
Derek pulls out his phone.  
  
“Who’re you calling?”  
  
“Peter.” Derek replies, “Looks like I’m coming out of retirement very soon.”

  
  
*Stiles*  
  
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.  
  
And not just because the song on the radio is saying so.  
  
The apartment is festively decked out in red and green, and Derek is unusually cheerful. When he thinks back to the handcuffs, Stiles feels foolish. He should’ve known Derek would believe him, give this a chance.    
  
Per Derek’s request they’re waiting until after the holidays to tackle the sit down between all three of them. Surprisingly, Rafael hadn’t insisted on immediate visits. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because he’s truly trying to do what’s right or if it’s because he’s afraid of Derek. The few times they have spoken, Rafael has expressed his apprehension.  
  
“Dyl,” Stiles checks on the food while yelling, “ Dylan, go wash up for dinner!”  
  
No response.  
  
Stiles pokes his head out of the kitchen and nearly has a heart attack when he spots his son about half way up Derek’s bookshelf.  
  
“Dylan! What did I tell you?”  
  
“I’m fine!” As soon as Dylan’s says those words his hand slips and Stiles is sprinting across the carpet thinking he’s going to crash to the floor. He doesn’t but Stiles still loses about five years off his life.  
  
Stiles grabs him around the middle, and marches him into the bathroom. “Okay runt, no more giving me a heart attack or you‘ll be _moving into time out_.”  
  
“I wanted to get the Alvin songs, Daddy put it up there cause it gives him headaches.”  
  
“Do you blame him?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“I mean, you can’t do that, ask someone to get it for you.” Stiles flicks on the faucet and helps Dylan wash his hands. “Besides, Daddy is on his way home.”  
  
“Daddy doesn’t like Alvin and the Chipmunks,” Dylan wisely opines. “But I want him for Christmas.”  
  
“You asked Santa?”  
  
“Santa called,” Derek says from behind them, cheeks still ruddy from the cold outside. “He said Alvin went to Hawaii so he can’t bring him for you.”  
  
“Liar!” Dylan grins, shaking his head and sending his light brown hair flying. Stiles really has to cut it soon. Unwittingly, he flashes back to Rafael in the café, his hair is overly long as well. “I saw Santa at the mall with Poppy.”  
  
Derek raises a brow but doesn’t respond. “Something smells good.”  
  
“I made chicken parm.” Stiles is pretty proud of that, it’s no secret that Derek can out cook him but he did pretty well. “On my own.  On my day off.”  
  
“Want a medal?”  
  
“Har, har.” Stiles accepts his kiss smiling, “ C‘mon, hubby, dinner is served.”

  
  
*Derek*  
  
“What’d you do today?”  
  
Derek doesn’t want to lie, “Hung out with Scott.”  
  
“Have fun?”  
  
Well, it was fun seeing the look on Rafael’s face when Peter shoved him into the back of the car.  
  
“It was alright.”  
  
“We missed you, next time Dylan and I are stalking you wherever you go.”  
  
Feeling awkward-- and okay, slightly guilt, Derek changes the subject. “You hear that?”  
  
“What?” Stiles shifts on the couch, looks behind them. “You think he’s up?”  
  
“I meant the blessed silence-- Alvin free.”  
  
Stiles laughs, “You really hate him.”  
  
“Can you blame me?”  
  
A mischievous look, “We could ’accidentally” break the CD now, sprinkle the bits around her bowl and frame Robin for the crime.”  
  
“Or.” Derek pulls him back down on the couch, pushes him back against the cushions. “We can work on that baby.”  
  
A warm flush spreads across Stiles’ cheeks, “Yeah?”  
  
“Definitely.”  Derek nips his lower lip, before drawing him in for a slow kiss. Judging by his enthusiastic response Stiles is completely on board. “Dylan asked me to ask Santa for a little brother.”  
  
“Yeah?” Stiles’ fingers card through Derek’s hair, and the way he’s looking up at him, eyes dark and luminous makes Derek feel about ten feet tall. “Then we should definitely start working on that, Christmas is only a week away.”  
  
“How long do you think it’ll take to knock you up?”  
  
“Not long considering our sex life.” Stiles slides out from under him eagerly,. ”Let’s have sex in the shower, then our bed--oh, is the rooftop open past midnight?”  
  
Derek grins, lets his husband lead the way. “Ho, ho, ho.”  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> feedback is awesome :)


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